If You Would
by I-am-the-survivor
Summary: A series of joanlock stories based on the prompts for this year's inktober
1. I

**Alright SO. Due to participating in a physics class I've opted against participating in the "traditional" inktober despite the fact that I have for the past 3(?) years. I simply don't have the time to sit down and commit the time to drawing every day. So instead I've decided I'm going to use the prompts to write short stories for joanlock. This will (hopefully) not distract from me writing the fake marriage au but I can't make any promises.**

_**Day One: Ring**_

The peace lasts for but a moment. The dying embers from the fireplace glow in the bathing darkness of the room. Her head rests on Sherlock's chest. He watches the rhythm of her back rising and falling with each breath.

Sherlock abandoned the files just a little bit after Watson nodded off. Its a rare day that he doesn't feel the impish desire to wake her. Rather, he almost felt pity when he realized she'd wake with a horrible crick in her neck if she slept through the night in that position.

Thus he set out on a task, gathering an array of pillows and a blanket large enough to cover her. As he began setting up, however, she shifted settling her head on his shoulder. A few failed attempts and after almost waking her twice, Sherlock was able to succumb to the fact that he was stuck

With slow controlled movements he adjusts until she's lying on top of him, his head atop the pillows he gathered. He questioned the decision until he swooped the blanket over them just enough to cover her feet. The new warmth must have pleased her as her arms wrapped around his torso and she buried her face deeper into his chest.

An odd sort of comfort plowed into him in that instance. The only sound beating through the quiet being her occasional snore and each time he had to suppress a chuckle. She'd never hear the end of it, that's for sure.

He remains this way for an hour merely watching her, categorizing every detail from the dark stands tickling the back of his hands to the soft texture of her beloved cardigan.

The doorbell's trill interrupts his moment of peace. Watson startles looking around in confusion before her eyes land on him. "I'm sorry I-"

"It's quite alright." She doesn't pull away to get the door. In fact, she almost seems hesitant to break the embrace. That its something so rare that it couldn't possibly occur again in their lifetime. Its the second chime that pulls her away with an apologetic smile.

He remains watching her until he hears Bell's voice beckoning them back into the wilderness once more. The only evidence left of their peace being the pillows and blankets left behind as they go to scour a new crime scene.


	2. II

**Surprise! Double upload. While I'm aware this would normally be a d*ck move, I legit thought of this idea today and wrote both of these back to back so I'm uploading them together so I'm all caught up. Enjoy the extra reading. This one does have spoilers for season 7.**

_**Day 2: Mindless**_

The action in itself is completely secondhand but it takes both of their breaths away. Sherlock stares at his partner in wonder as if she had the answers to life itself.

The case today had been hard on the both of them. Six women suddenly vanishing between two security cameras a mere 20 feet apart stumped them. Any answers they came across proved to either be dead ends or lead to even more questions than they started with.

He had begun to feel the exhaustion and frustration settling into his bones but Watson? Her experience was so much worse. They'd only been back on cases for a few months after her illness when this one struck. He may have had opportunities to study cold cases in their year away but all of her energy went into caring for Arthur and getting back her health. It was frightening some days when she didn't have the strength to even rise from bed. The look in her eyes as they left the precinct reminded him of that helplessness he saw on her worst days.

Despite his instincts to whistle a cab down he did so calmly, eyes trained on her. They rode in silence to Rosie's house to pick up the younger Watson.

Upon arrival Rosie opened the door with the little boy asleep in her arms. He sees the relaxation wash over his partner at the sight of her son. Any lingering frustrations drift away leaving behind the simple all too human need for rest.

He could also see the dread in her eyes though. He knows she's too tired to carry him and he'll have to walk with them back to the Brownstone. While its only a few blocks there's no telling if he'll settle down again easily.

No, he looks much too peaceful to disturb. Before her hand can reach out to touch his back and wake him Sherlock is gathering the boy into his arms. Tufts of wild dark hair brush his face as Arthur buries his face into his neck letting out a soft snore. He smiles as he's more like Watson than most could ever know.

It strikes him as they bid Rosie goodbye that Arthur in his arms feels completely natural. That taking him because Watson is too tired was thoughtless. Their eyes meet both taken away by how domestic this feels.

Rather than making excuses Watson leans into it. Her hand settles onto the crook of his arm, matching each of his steps. As a family they make their way home together.


	3. III

**In my most on brand fashion I planned this idea yesterday but waited until almost the last minute to actually write it. I got side tracked with both Why Women Kill and The Good Place airing today on top of the fact that one of my favorite youtubers sprung a "reverse charity livestream" today so I wrote this while on commercial breaks for the good place. Hope y'all enjoy. This is absolutely inspired by Lucy Liu's 80′s look and it was just begging to be written into these two's dynamics and who doesn't love Sherlock being tricked for once.**

_**Day 3 - Bait**_

Watson steps into the kitchen with two items from the dry cleaner draped over her arm. "I propose an experiment."

He narrows his eyes at her, normally that's his line. "Go on?"

With that she throws one of the bags onto the table. "Tomorrow we're going to dress in 80′s era clothing. I already got the outfits." She raises an eyebrow, a simple challenge to question her. After all the experiments he's put her through over the years, he may as well say yes.

"Very well." She smiles, the grin lighting up her eyes as she goes up the stairs with a little extra bounce to her step. Truly, he's not sure of the last time Watson became so eager over something so simple.

So, the next morning he dons the outfit she's picked out for him. The look of the pinstripe suit is not enough to overwhelm him and he must admit the rare opportunity for him to show off his socks makes him smile a bit. The cut of the suit is distinctly 1980′s culture and he must say he's impressed with Watson's eye for detail.

When she steps out, however, is the moment his jaw drops. While his look is muted for his benefit, hers is anything but. Her coat is bright pink with patterns of black flowers swirling all around the bodice and into each other. Her hair is in a tight updo topped with a large brimmed hat balanced atop. Even her belt which ties the ensemble together has a pattern hidden in the fabric. Even her makeup is dramatic calling all of his attention to her eyes. It's flashy and so un-Watson that he can't seem to pull his gaze away.

"Ready?" All he can do is swallow and nod before following her out of the house. On the cab ride to the precinct, however, the pieces begin steadily to fall into place.

It starts with a girl wearing a dress with a peter pan collar and double braids passing them on a bicycle. Then its varieties of individuals dressed in superhero outfits they see out the windows on the drive. The catalyst for his realization came in the form of a family dressed in matching costumes from a Disney movie he didn't remember the name of.

A quick check of his phone confirms his suspicions: October 31st. He'd fallen right into her trap. In the six years of working together he'd not once dressed up for Halloween. He played right into her hand.

He stares at her in a mix of disbelief and wonder. She tilts her head at him feigning innocence. "Everything alright?"

"Perfect." He nods with a closed smile.

Later, when he sees Marcus pass her $20 with a groan he takes comfort in knowing he's not the only one who took the bait.


	4. IV

**Only a short one today because tbh I am quite exhausted. This was inspired by my walk home today because for the past week it's been pushing 90-100 degrees outside so when it was 67 today I walked out without a jacket. Big mistake as once it got dark it dropped again. I was super cold and I wish I would've had someone to offer up their jacket but alas.**

_**Day 4 - Freeze**_

Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock sees Watson's frame rack with shivers. The past few weeks its been uncharacteristically warm for the fall season. Temperatures in the 80's and 90's plagued New York. Thus when another day of 80 degree weather comes to pass Watson picks a sleeveless blouse and a skirt.

Of course, on this day when the sun dropped the temperature dropped dramatically. He can see her regret as soon as they step out of the patrol car to survey the new scene.

To anyone else her movements would be invisible. She masks her pacing by bouncing between evidence markers but he can tell her focus is far from the scene. He waits until the initial officers have cleared before he makes his move.

He removes his jacket draping it over her shoulders. She tenses initially at the contact but immediately pulls the garment closer to her body. She flashes him a grateful smile to which he answers with a simple shrug. Anyone else would have done the same had they noticed. He simply needed her eyes on this case as well.

Later when they pile into the car he doesn't ask for it back, not even when they arrive home. Its not until he finds it carefully folded on his bed the next day that he even remembers it. Placed on top is a thank you note written in smooth script. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips and he tucks the note into his drawer going off to prepare for the new day.


	5. V

**Just a little sweet domestic Brownstone family for today. Hope y'all enjoy and know that I'm so grateful for all the kudos and sweet comments y'all are leaving. It really makes writing these little prompts so much easier.**

_**Day 5 - Build**_

The first thing Watson notices as she steps into the Brownstone is all of her cushions are missing off of the couch. She stifles the groan rumbling in her chest but continues nonetheless.

She'd known this was bound to happen when Sherlock moved back in. Through the year of her illness, however, he'd kept shenanigans to a minimum. Rarely did she walk in with anything out of place. Only one instance where a painting went missing. It, however, was replaced with the one Clyde had made all those years ago so she held her tongue, treasuring the new addition to her home.

Sherlock had known she went to visit her mother in the hospital. In an episode she'd forgotten she'd left the stove on and accidentally burned herself. She'd not dared to bring Arthur in case his grandmother not recognize him. Even the thought burns tears into her eyes. Still Sherlock had volunteered to stay home with him and he was up to something. She'd never considered him a cruel man but now she can feel the frustration bubbling and ready to spill over.

As she makes her say across the house she notices more and more missing items: the dining room chairs, her desk, and most, if not all, blankets and pillows. The more that adds to the list, the more she feels her irritation grow.

As she climbs up the stairs she hears giggling followed by shushing. Curiosity takes over and she follows the sound. As she opens the door and flicks the light on she takes in the scene in front of her.

Blankets arch carefully stretched from one piece of furniture to the next tucked into corners and drawers. Pieces that weren't secured were pinned with piles of books. Through the makeshift 'door' that was simply a blanket draped over the entrance she could see her missing pillows, a couple books, and a recognizable pair of socks.

"Anyone home?" She calls out. Two heads pop up from behind the fortress simultaneously. Their hair sticks out in every which way and they both look at her in a mixture of shock and joy.

"Mommy!" Arthur calls out. His head disappears followed by the sound of hurried shuffling from beneath the pile. He crawls out the front popping up once he's free in order to jump into her arms. "Uncle Sherlock and I made a fort!" She looks back at the other man who shrugs but his smile shines the most relaxed he's been in a long time.

"Is that so?"

"He said you were sad so we made a no sad zone. We got snacks and books and Uncle Alfredo bought a projector so we could watch movies!" Instantly she feels her stress and anger fading away. She placed a kiss on her son's cheek following him into the for/t.

She waits until Arthur is asleep in her lap to address Sherlock. "I know this was your idea." He feigns a look of innocence casting a glance at the small body in her arms. "Thank you Sherlock. I really needed this today."

He leans in placing a kiss against her temple. She leans against him allowing the outside world to rush away. "Any time Watson."


	6. VI

**Sherlock is a little more out of character for this prompt but I've decided that I do not care because I like this adaptation of the prompt because the only other option I could think of is a literal husky and I could never really see them with another pet outside of Clyde. Hope y'all enjoy!**

_**Day 6- Husky**_

Watson wakes to the sound of her cell phone buzzing on her nightstand. Shuffling from beneath the covers she squints checking the number. "Marcus? Why are you calling this late?" She whispers into the phone as not to wake her partner.

"We've got another scene. We need you two to get here as soon as you can. I've sent a car to pick you up."

Wiry arms wrap around her pulling her back under the covers. "Who are you talking to?" Sherlock's voice is rough with sleep and he buries his face into her neck.

"Marcus. Killer struck again." She feels more than hears the curse mumbled into her skin.

"Is that Sherlock?" She casts a glance at her partner who has fallen back asleep.

"Yeah. We fell asleep in the living room while studying the files." The lie rolls easily off her tongue. They agreed long ago to keep their relationship away from the precinct. The less complicated their arrangement was, the better.

"Well you both better get ready. Cortez will be there in 20." With that he hangs up. She turns to Sherlock who, despite appearances, is definitely not asleep. She nudges him twice but all he does in response is try to burrow deeper into her. If anyone told her three months ago that Sherlock Holmes is a cuddler she would have laughed in their face, but here she is.

"Come on," She coaxes into his ear running her nails across the nape of his neck. "You get dressed and I'll make coffee." At that he loosens his grip allowing her to make her escape.

He peers up at her as she shuffles on her pants and dress shirt from the day prior. His hair is rumpled and eyes squinting at her. If she wasn't in a hurry the look would be almost adorable.

"We have to get there before the snow starts and masks anything they could've glanced over." She points out.

"Francisco is on the case then, hm?" The junior officer overlooked a spot of blood once and was doomed to Sherlock's ridicule. Though, that could really be said for any officer that isn't Marcus. With a fond smile she tosses his clothes at him electing to ignore his question.

She takes care to bring an extra thermos for Bell. If not for an apology for a potentially cranky Sherlock than to keep him from asking questions about what he could've overheard on the phone. No use blowing their secret over a 4 AM call.

Sherlock helps her shrug on her coat and they step out into the frigid winter night.


	7. VII

**Did I use this prompt as an excuse to write about ****_that_**** dress from the finale? Yes. Do I regret a thing? Not even a little.**

_**Day 7 - Enchanted**_

As Watson steps down the stairs Sherlock can't help but stop in his tracks. Her grown sweeps to the ground barely brushing the floor. A slit in the material runs up to her thigh exposing her red heels with each step. He can't help but notice they match the shade of her lipstick. The black satin wraps around her neck in a sleek collar before the material dives once more into a deep v neckline.

Its the very same dress she'd worn two years prior to question Moriarty. Of course the woman in question hadn't attended sending a lackey instead. Still, the dress had the same affect as it had those years ago.

"I thought the intent wasn't to pull attention away from the bride." She raises an eyebrow and Sherlock with a small scoff.

"If anyone steals all the attention it'll be the boys." Truly Arthur, Archie, and Thomas were a trio to be reckoned with. The calmest of the three, shockingly, being the young Bell.

"Maybe of the bride." He chuckles.

"Please. I'd be surprised if Kitty is able to look anywhere but at Zoe." He nods twice rocking back and forth on his feet. Kitty met Zoe at Archie's school and the whole story seemed pitifully like the romantic comedies Watson enjoys so. Never had he imagined Kitty ending up with someone who seems to be the pure antithesis of herself.

His eyes fall to Watson's hair noticing that she's curled it for the occasion.

"Its finally long enough." She mutters. She ditched the wigs two months prior and he finds himself staring more and more taking in her natural beauty. With the energy and passion she exhudes she's simply,

"Beautiful." He finishes his thought out loud. Her chest flushes red with the compliment and she offers him a small smile.

"Come on, we have to wrestle two boys into their tuxes."

As they step out into the hallway her hand takes his anchoring him by her side.


	8. VIII

**Honest to god inspired by the fact that right now I just really need a hug. I live away from home and my roommates aren't very touchy kinda people but I'm super affectionate so it makes for a struggle when I'm like a week away from getting home to hug my family and dogs. Anyone else need a bear hug rn? Just me? Okay**

_**Day 8 - Frail**_

All throughout Watson's sickness people were careful around her. Once chemo began Sherlock hid work from her. Whilst they both removed themselves from the precinct, he still took on odd cases to keep from driving her insane with his bored antics. Three months into the treatment Arthur stopped making leaping jumps into her arms. She tried not to feel hurt by it but it ended up with silent tears in the dead of night. Hell, even her mother hid details of her progressing Alzheimer's from her. It was as frustrating as upsetting. Sherlock may have taken the brunt of more snapping than he deserved when she thought he was treating her too gently.

Getting the clean bill of diagnosis, however, didn't seem to change a thing. They're still out of work, Arthur doesn't jump into her, and her mother has pulled further from her than ever. She feels the anger bubbling at the thought of being treated like a child. Worse, like she's made of porcelain. One false move could shatter her at any moment.

She's taking out her aggression on the vegetables she's preparing when she hears the thundering of steps rapping quickly down the stairs. She doesn't yell to slow down as they're much too heavy to be Arthur. Confirming her suspicions Sherlock rounds the corner standing in the doorway with his laptop pointed at her.

He raises his eyebrows like he expects a reaction from her. "I'm not wearing my reading glasses you'll have to tell me what it says." Her tone is harsher than she'd like to admit. She abandons her chopping facing him fully.

Looking at him now she can see the barely concealed energy practically radiating from him. Tears are in his eyes, face red from effort to hold himself back and likely from the rush down as well.

"Sherlock?" Concern laces the name and he swallows heavily finding his words.

"Its your official clean bill of health." He explains, "Your oncologist just emailed it to the both of us." She tilts her head almost expecting him to explain more.

Rather, he places his computer next to Clyde's terrarium taking 4 wide steps until he crashes into her. His arms wrap around her holding her tighter than she remembers being held since she was a child. His wingspan is wide enough so that she can feel his fingers spread across her ribcage. They dig so deeply she wouldn't be surprised to see light bruises the next day. The absolute force of it all knocks the breath from her.

For once in the year since her diagnosis she's not fragile. She's not a prized treasure dangerously close to tipping off a shelf. No, she's finally whole again. The realization plows into her that all of the struggle is finally over. The sickness, the exhaustion, the fear. She feels everything evaporate as she clings to him. In such a small interaction he's restored the strength she'd feared she'd lost.


	9. IX

**Trying something a little new and giving y'all Marcus's POV today. I honestly just couldn't get the idea of them just sitting on a swingset and just talking out of my head so tadaaa.**

_**Day 9 - Swing**_

Really, after 5 years of working together Marcus really shouldn't question where the two consulting detectives disappear to. One moment they're on the scene and the next its as if they've vanished.

He pretends not to hear the rumors circulating around the precinct about the relationship between his two friends. If he's being honest, as long as Joan is able to keep Sherlock from doing something they'd all regret later, the two could be secretly married for all he cares.

That's a lie. He'd absolutely care because they're his best friends. However, this is their sixth sudden disappearance on this one case alone. He'd turned to ask Sherlock a question and he was met with empty air. Not even one of his fellow officers were lingering around.

So he wanders a bit, mostly looking for other potential clues but also for his two best people. What he did not expect to see is the two of them, with their backs to him, gently rocking on a swing set, side by side.

He can't hear the conversation from where he's standing but he can tell when Sherlock is listening with undivided attention. He'd only seen it directed to any other person but Watson maybe twice in his entire career. There was always a part of him somewhere else, but not around her.

Sherlock's sudden movement makes him take a step back. But he hasn't been discovered like he'd expected. Rather Sherlock moved his hand from the chain to hold Watson's that appeared to be folded in her lap, judging by her posture.

He feels now like he's infringing on a scene not meant to be watched by others. He sees Sherlock speak, a sincere expression on his face, an act of comfort.

Now he knows he's seeing something he's not meant to. Walking back could alert the two that he'd been watching. Staying increases the chance of Sherlock catching a glimpse of him in his peripheral. He settles on something in between choosing to shift focus back to the task at hand.

"Sherlock? Joan? You might wanna come see this."


	10. X

**God I owe this entire chapter to Em. I was at an absolute loss of what to do for today's prompt but Em swooped in and saved me. Their idea was "Joan or Sherlock re-evaluating their time together and finding patterns that suggest that they're In Love™" and it was too brilliant not to use**

_**Day 10- Pattern**_

The first thing that comes to Sherlock's mind is he feels like he's sinking. The panic that grips someone when the ground beneath them is beginning to give, no pulling you beneath. Its truly the only thing that feels like an apt description in this moment.

He blames Kitty. He'd gotten a call from her expecting usual banter and a sarcastic remark or two. What he got was anything but. She'd confessed to him that she was worried that she might be in love with this girl she met from Archie's school. She'd given him a list of ways she knows and it has haunted him ever since.

Not because he's disapproving of her relationship. Rather, a lot of the reasons she shared were behaviors he's been noticing between Watson and himself.

Its what lead him here, standing in the doorway of the bathroom with his heart in his throat. Watson stands in front of the mirror twisting her dark locks into an updo when she spots him.

'I just can't take my eyes off her.' Kitty's words spring to his mind echoing and getting louder. He almost misses Watson's words.

"I'll be ready in ten minutes then we can leave."

'Even when she's doing absolutely nothing it feels like a punch to the chest.' He's not sure exactly why he's here. To test what she said? See if it rang true?

"Sherlock?"

'God I've gotten myself into one hell of a mess, haven't I?' Truly. He's about to do the same.

Watson turns towards him and he makes his move. One step and he's close enough that he can feel the heat radiate off of her. They stand in silence for a few seconds. He gives her plenty of time to push him away and yet, she doesn't.

"Sherlock?" His name spills from her lips again but none of the annoyance from the prior laces her tone. Confusion, anxiety, and dare he say hope take its place.

His hand comes to rest on her jaw pulling him to her. His lips connect with hers and the sinking feeling dissipates. Her own hands settle on his chest but they do not push away. He feels a rush down his spine as she grows bolder deepening the kiss. She tastes of the coffee and blueberries she'd had for breakfast. He can't help but gather as many details as possible.

She pulls away first, in need of air. He finds himself at a loss if she asks him to explain. Rather he swipes his thumb across her cheek taking in the details one last time before he releases her. "Ten minutes." He steps out of the bathroom and she doesn't follow.

He doesn't even explain himself the second time he kisses her, or the third, or any time after that. After all, this is all Kitty's fault.


	11. XI

**And here we are yet again. Just a short one tonight because I didn't get home until late. Hope y'all enjoy!**

_**Day 11 - Snow**_

White sheets blanket the sidewalks casting a gloom over the New York night. Inside the Brownstone, however, the light of the fire creates a warm glow across Sherlock's family.

Kitty, Arthur, and Archie all lie in a pile, the eldest wrapping her arms protectively around the two kids in her slumber. Far from finished with their game he and Watson have settled into a long game of chess. They'd had what Watson deemed a family game night with board games and card games aplenty.

Marcus left with Thomas shortly after the younger Bell had fallen asleep in his father's lap. The boys' bedtimes came but both too rowdy to fall asleep Kitty settled them both on the couch providing sports like commentary to his and Watson's game. The giggles eventually faded replaced by the sounds of even breaths.

Normally their games could last hours with their record being 34 hours straight, not counting necessary breaks. However he can recognize when Watson's energy is fading. She took her hair down after an hour, then she put on her cardigan, and lastly her head began to rest on her chin.

"Come Watson." Her name catches her attention breaking her focus. "Let's go to bed." She argues feebily but he can tell her heart isn't in it. "We can continue another time." She gives in after that waiting until he's put out the fire before going up the stairs.

He follows her loyally, two steps behind her at all points. She lifts the comforter when she's settled, an invitation to join her. He smiles at her in the darkness climbing into the warm safety of her blankets.

The wind bashes on against the windows promising a frigid morning but for now they sleep on peacefully letting the comfort of home keep them warm.


	12. XII

**SO. I'm not gonna lie this is entirely on me y'all. I knew 1000% that yesterday I was going to a pumpkin patch with my roommates and that I would NOT have the energy for writing when I got back and yet I did not prepare anything ahead of time because I am a dumbass. No joke I knew this was the plan for a week and didn't do shit about it. Ah well. Have a little contemplation of Moriarty and Watson.**

_**Day 12 - Dragon**_

Its difficult not to compare the two most important people in his life. It's brutally unfair considering one is his partner and another is a few hairs short of a mob boss. Yet considering his life thus far very little has been fair to him.

Moriarty was a flame. She consumes any who dares come close dazzling them with glowing theatrics. She enchants, pulls in, destroys. Yet despite the possibility of being burnt its near impossible to look away. She draws the gaze of all the curious and lost. Those who grow too close, who are a perceived threat don't know until its too late. She could simply breathe and tear his world to shreds.

Watson is the water. She has the propensity to be just as dangerous as fire, maybe more so, but she chooses to give life with her power. First as a doctor aiding the sick and dying, then a sober companion guiding the lost, then a detective giving closure for those who are gone. She is the piece he didn't know he was missing. She soothes even the wildest spirit bathing them in a smooth calm. Yet he's witnessed her storm. She stood against the flame and won earning her respect. She battled his demons with a ferocity and pushed him to the shore. A dehydration he didn't know existed until she saved him.

Its wholly unfair but he needs them both to live and yet he's certain one, if not both, will be his true destruction.


	13. XIII

**Here we are, a double publish to make up for my idiocy. I can't express how difficult it is to come up with these two as "dragon" and "ash" were the back to back prompts and I try to ground my prompts in the truth of Elementary's narrative so I don't really want to do AU stuff. But I do enjoy both of what I wrote so it worked out I suppose.**

_**Day 13 - Ash**_

The seconds that Sherlock watches the flames are gut wrenching. The house went up in seconds. He can hear the sirens quickly approaching but he can't move. Not until he sees her, not until he knows she's okay.

He and Watson separated paths to pursue their own leads. She picked the lock to the home while he investigated the woods surrounding. Anything that would give them a hint to where Rogers hid the weapon he used to kill 2 couples they'd take it.

He smelled the smoke before he saw it climbing above the trees. He rushed back but it was already too late. The house was engulfed and Watson was nowhere to be seen. A curious civilian must have reported the smoke because he was too busy trying desperately to get a hold of his partner stuck in a seemingly endless cycle.

Its the sound of a window shattering that breaks it. A chair tumbles across the fallen leaves and a body tumbles out after. It takes a second for him to recognize the gray coat on the forest floor as Watson's ash covered form.

His feet carry him faster than he remembers traveling in a long time. He helps her to her feet as she coughs and greedily sucks in the clean air.

Later he would learn that Rogers was in the process of coating his home in gasoline to rid of evidence when Watson caught him and it was their struggle with the lighter that caused the house to catch with them both still inside. Watson would walk away with only a minor burn on her arm from where she pushed a flaming bookcase down to get away from Rogers. He would be caught within the hour as he tries to flag down a car only to catch the attention of a cruiser headed to the scene.

For now, though, all he can focus on is that Watson is in front of him. She's not still trapped while he helplessly watches. She is safe.

For now.


	14. XIV

**Not gonna lie I had no idea for today without going sad so instead I went absolutely goofy. This is probably out of character but honestly I had to write about his beard. It would not stop yelling at me and with the prompt overgrown? C'mon. I had to. It's the law**

_**Day 14 - Overgrown**_

Of all things Watson expected from Sherlock over the years of her partnership, she can't say the beard was one of them.

Even after his relapse he never really let his facial hair grow that much. Gray dominated the color, the only true hint to his age.

She tries to get used to it, she truly does. The look stays for about a month. She's not the only one who is not a fan of the look. Kitty's long string of texts plotting different ways to trick him into shaving says more than enough. Her creativity has certainly improved over the years.

He slips behind her as she's making her coffee stuck in her thoughts. The hairs running across her neck cause a shiver to travel down her spine. "Morning." He mutters in her ear hugging her from behind.

She hums in response spinning around. "Sleep well?" He nods with a small smile. He had been up for four days straight working on this case and finally he crashed in her bed. It was nice having a warm body to lay next to but every time his beard would brush against her skin she'd jump. Thankfully his exhaustion was enough to keep him down for the count.

He certainly looks better than he had in the past two days. Her hand comes to rest on his cheek her nose wrinkling at the texture beneath her fingers. "Something wrong?"

"You can't be up for four days straight. Three is fine for you but you were beginning to worry me there." Its not an entire lie. He'd spaced out a lot the last day, lost in his mind palace.

"It won't happen again." He grabs her wrist placing a small kiss onto his palm. She doesn't think much of the whole interaction as he slips out of the room as quietly as he'd come in. Not until he reappears again cleanly shaven once more. "Better?" She should've known better that he'd known she hasn't liked it all along. He's a master of microexpressions and she may as well have written it out for him.

"Better." He smiles at her and she feels a little guilty. He'd shaved for her sake not for his own.

She still sends Kitty a victory text though.


	15. XV

**A little less interaction between joanlock for this one because I wanted to explore how their legacy could effect undercover operations and if they were to be discovered. Almost turned this little one into a casefic but with midterms here I had to keep it short.**

_**Day 15 - Legend**_

"I'm so glad you could come Miss Reynolds." Watson follows the woman through the winding quarters with a polite smile. "I know the foundation will be greatly appreciative if you decide to make any donations tonight."

The pearls around her neck feel foreign and the evening gown is heavy with the weight of all the embellishments. Its a far cry from anything she'd have worn but Mariah Reynolds, the stay at home wife of a renowned surgeon? That would definitely be her taste.

"I'm sorry about Sean rushing off. I think he's eager to meet up with Davis. Something about a discovery for their research." Sherlock has dismissed himself early after arriving. Under the guise of eagerly seeking a colleague he can easily slip between rooms searching for any evidence to pin the woman in front of her as the killer they've been on the search for over the past two weeks.

It seems to satisfy the woman well enough. Going undercover was, of course, Sherlock's idea. The well known philanthropist Amber Martinelli was impossible to get in contact with and historically was exclusive with who she met up with unless they had money to their names.

With the help of Davis, an old colleague of her own and her former chief of medicine when she was but a resident, Sean and Mariah Reynolds came to be. Sherlock's wealth alone proved to be enough to catch her attention. With the back story to boot they were quickly welcomed into the inner circle.

"You know, its kind of funny. My husband always leaves the TV on at night and most of the time its an absolute nuisance. He never knows where the remote is so of course I have to get up to turn it off." Watson tilts her head, feigning interest in the ramblings of a mad woman. "I never thought I'd find it anything but annoying."

"We don't marry them because they're perfect. Sean has more than enough quirks to drive a rational woman away." She chuckles along with her. All the while biting time for Sherlock while the gala goes on a few rooms down.

"Clearly." Amber's words have more edge than she expects. "I remember he left it on a few weeks ago and the news was on. Something or other about a girl being found after going missing for six months, could you imagine?"

She remembers that case. With such a young victim it had been hard on her and Sherlock both.

"I knew I recognized Sean because he clearly helped fund the search. Why else would he have been pictured at the crime scene?" Her blood runs cold. "So when I met you two I had to do some digging. Sherlock doesn't like taking credit for the work he does, does he Miss Watson?" Amber turns now, her hand being tipped. She'd known their identity, maybe for a while. Enough to plan an ambush.

The gun shot goes off by the time Watson unfurls the single stick she had tucked into her purse. She dips out of the way catching the graze on her arm. Thankfully villainous monologues allude to attacks. From her change in tone Watson was ready for a fight.

She disarms her easily with a swift smack to her wrist. The gun skitters across the linoleum and the woman lunges after. Watson strikes again finding easy weak spots. By the time Sherlock comes spinning around the corner, likely alarmed by the sounds of gunshots, her attacker is on the ground unconscious.

"She knew who we were." Her explanation satisfies the questioning look on his face until he spies the blood on her arm.

"You're hurt." She can practically hear the guilt in his voice. Already she knows he's blaming himself, after all it was he who suggested they go undercover.

"I'm okay. Its just a graze." Its not enough to convince him to leave her side. He remains lingering for the rest of the night. As Marcus takes the woman away, as she gets stitched up by a paramedic, even as they arrive home he's close enough to feel the heat off of him. Its oddly comforting. She leans on him long after the case comes to a close. They don't speak, only leaning on each other for the support the other desires.


	16. XVI

**A little extension from episode 5x13 because so often Elementary robs us of what could be really raw and emotional moments by doing just a little jump skip. Been wanting to write something like this based on that ep for a little bit but something else always managed to catch my attention because I have the attention span of a walnut.**

_**Day 16 - Wild**_

Watson remembers the look in Sherlock's eyes when she arrived home, finally free from being held hostage by Jack Brunelle. No amount of time will erase the guilt she saw in his eyes. He held there, head bowed as if asking to repent.

"I failed." Very few times had she heard Sherlock admit defeat. Almost all in situations with no stakes at all. A chess match, a challenge in escaping handcuffs. Never like this. The air in the room feels so tight she barely breathes.

"We both did. We should have listened to Brunelle long ago. All we can do now is learn from it." Truthfully all she wants to do is shower, to remove the sweat and filthy built up in the past hours while painstakingly waiting for what seemed like death.

"No." He looks up at her finally, eyes bloodshot as if he'd even crying. It makes her stop dead in her tracks to him. "No, I didn't fail Jack Brunelle. Not today. I failed you Watson." His voice is but a whisper. A confession to a great sin that can only be condemned in his eyes.

"You did not." Her tone is harsh, one rarely directed at Sherlock but today she's been through enough bullshit. "You were not the one who made me stay in the diner. You did not hold the gun. You will not blame yourself for what happened tonight. Not when me and the whole fucking NYPD share the same shame." He flinches slightly, so rarely does she cuss but she's walked the line of her breaking point from the moment Tommy tried to even suggest killing a man who was just desperate for answers after years of being ignored. "We know facts. The facts are that everyone is alive. The cop walked out with two fractured ribs but that's it. We do not longer on ifs because in our job that will get everyone hurt, you hear me?"

He nods, relief flooding his features. "I'm-"

"If you say you're sorry I'm going to throw Angus at you."

"I'm happy you're home." He finishes, meeting her eyes. The look of panic, regret has faded replaced with utter adoration. A look she's much more fond of after years of exposure.

"Happy to be home."


	17. XVII

**SO. I realize that this is a little late but I can explain. Not really. I am currently on Fall Break so I'm back in my home town for a little bit. This has lead to inspiration being absolutely SHOT. Like I tried to type something out but by the time I was home on Thursday I watched the good place with my sister and then crashed. Next day? We went to a theme park where they hold a halloween theme and were there until 1 AM doing spooky stuff. Finally I got up the courage to write all three prompts in one day so brace for a triple upload.**

_**Day 17 - Ornament**_

It should be something so little. The younger Watson took a few strides up to Sherlock with a clumsily wrapped box clutched between his fingers. His eyes go to Watson herself who stands on the other side of the kitchen drinking her coffee and smiling at the two of them.

"Its for you." Arthur says shyly. He and Watson very rarely gave one another gifts. Outside of buying coffee or lunch for another a solid present was an oddity for him. He glances between the boy, the present, and back again.

Carefully he takes the gift unwrapping the paper from around it. The white box stares intimidatingly back at him. He removes the lid to discover what's inside.

A glass ornament sits inside, a tiny replica of Angus down to the painted on cracks from when Watson used him as a weapon.

"Mommy and I have lots of ornaments for the tree but you didn't Uncle Sherlock. So I asked Mommy if we could put Angus on the tree."

"Now we can." He smiles at Arthur. "Thank you."

The little boy wraps his arms around him before running off to play. He turns to Watson with a raised eyebrow gesturing to the ornament.

"Lin's ex is a sculptor. The hardest part was getting all the pictures of Angus without you noticing." She sips her coffee with a slightly devious smile. How she truly managed to sneak around him is astonishing to say the absolute least.

The ornament is a wonderful addition to the tree as a wonderful reminder of his family.


	18. XVIII

**Why is the hardest thing coming up with generic white women names? Jokes aside, I had this idea like a week ago and in retrospect I should have written it then cause this one is rough. I am not too happy with this one but I love the idea too much not to use it.**

_**Day 18 - Misfit**_

Watson can feel the rage light up from just beneath her chest, burning throughout her body. She'd long suspected that the other moms had been talking ever since she gained her health back. This message was confirmation enough.

Its a short message, one sent from the inside circle. She initially was going to dismiss the message until she read it fully. "Hi Joan, this is Gail, I know we haven't talked much before but I felt you should know that some of the other mom's are asking some questions about your home. Is it true that you're letting an addict live with you and your son?" The moment she hears the words come from her voicemail she feels everything grind to a halt. "I thought Sherlock was a bit strange but calling him an addict seems harsh. Anyhow I felt that you should know."

The message keeps bouncing in her head as she drives Arthur to the park, the little boy chatting excitedly with Sherlock blissfully unaware to the war going on inside her mind. Sherlock, however, is another story. He'll cast a glance every now and again knowing not to ask with Arthur in proximity so he keeps him entertained instead.

It goes on like that until she spies the gray minivan pulling into the parking lot. The twins hop out first racing each other to the swing set. Finally the blonde woman on her mind steps out. Stacey Mackenzie, a lawyer who'd just moved into the city a year ago but hell bent on taking over. Sadly, she's more than accustomed to the type.

Across her years of partnership she's faced drug lords, villainous billionaires, serial killers, and the head of a crime organization. Stacey Mackenzie did not even come close to what she's faced. She supposes that's how she ignored the drama the woman seemed to enjoy accumulating around her. However, with access to records she knows she's the only one that could know about Sherlock's history.

She dismisses herself from the play time with Sherlock and Arthur under the guise to go greet a fellow mom. Neither of them seem to buy it, casting glances at one another. Still she goes taking a seat next to the woman.

"Joan!" If she weren't wearing sunglasses she would have had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "How are you?"

"Stacey," She puts on the clinical smile she'd long practiced for people under accusation. "I need to talk to you."

"Oh, what about?" Fake concern laces her features and part of her wonders if this woman even remembers that she's a consulting detective. She's faced her type a thousand times over and this didn't even come close to a convincing performance.

"Why are you looking into my family?" She cuts right to the chase wanting nothing more than to simply go back to her son.

"I'm simply concerned for Arthur. A boy should have positive influences in his life. How can a drug addict be good for that kind of life?"

At that she feels something snap. Honestly, she won't remember half of what she says after walking away. All she sees in this moment is pure red. "I'm not sure. How can a cheater be good for that kind of life?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen some impressive liars over the years. People have hidden nervous ticks as regular vehicles of someone nervous in an interrogation room. You're not one of them." She states simply. "Jamie Moriarty, Morland Holmes, Michael Rowan, surely all names you've heard of since moving." The woman shifts uncomfortably, a small confirmation. "For a lawyer you're awfully unconvincing to the trained eye. You're cheating on your husband and blackmailing him into not divorcing you."

"How did you"

"Doesn't matter. But don't you dare call into question Sherlock's capabilities to be a guardian to my son. You can not imagine the lengths he has gone to to make sure that he and I are happy. You do not get to question him based off of paper alone." She stands nodding politely to her for image sake. "If you come after my family again you'll wish that Sherlock was the one you'd have to worry about."

She goes back to her two favorite boys, Arthur kicking around a soccer ball while Sherlock watches on. "Feel better?" He asks when she takes a seat by his side. She should have known he knew what was happening all along. Even if he didn't his ability to read lips would have given him more than enough information. There's no use in denying it, especially as he doesn't look hurt by the rumors being spread about him.

"Much."


	19. XIX

**And here's the third. 3 in one day was definitely a challenge mentally but getting through it was so rewarding. That and I'm really happy with this last one. Probably because I'm familiar with having to reset dislocated shoulders. It's not fun. 0/10.**

_**Day 19 - Sling**_

Sherlock often catches himself hovering around Watson when she's hurt. He knows not to push her buttons under these circumstances but he is also familiar with her behaviors in testing her own limits.

They do say doctors are the worst patients.

They had been conducting their own search of a warehouse when it happened. The place was far from up to safety code as it had long been abandoned. However, he can say that Watson dropping from sight had been one of the most frightening moments in recent months.

Her foot had collapsed a piece of rotten wood beneath her. Enough decay to cause a fall but not enough for her to completely drop through to the floor below. She caught herself with the arm not holding her flashlight but the jarring movement was enough. Her cry of pain sent him rushing to her side, rotting floorboards be damned. He lifts her with one arm wrapped around her ribcage freeing her leg from the hole it had previously been trapped in.

She sits now with her back against the wall eyes tightly shut. With his flashlight now shining on her he can clearly see that her shoulder is dislocated. Likely pushed out of socket from the force of her catching herself.

"You have to reset it." Watson's pained tone rings out breaking his focus. "I can take it."

He knows she's right. The sound of her crash alone could have alerted someone in the area. They'll have to come looking for clues another day. He grabs her arm gingerly, wary of causing her any unnecessary pain. With her good hand she gathers the lapel of her coat clenching the cloth between her teeth. On the count of three he moves the joint back to its place. She let's out barely a whimper but he can feel her pain through her labored breath and the tears in her eyes.

He sits for a moment leaning towards her. They catch their breath together in the quiet, both listening for a cue that they'd been caught. When satisfied he brushes his lips against her forehead. Barely a touch but a gesture nonetheless. One that screams a hundred messages.

Thank god, you're okay. It could have been so much worse. I can't lose you.


	20. XX

**For today's prompt I decided to decipher it as 'tread lightly'. That and ever since watching that Why Women Kill season finale I've been obsessed with a pairing dancing.**

_**Day 20 - Tread**_

Sherlock's movements are slow, precise in every movement. His hand comes to brush against Watson's cheek. Her smile is soft, only visible to him as the sway across the living room.

One moment is all she asked for. A dance to alleviate all the pain they've endured the past few weeks. A brutal case finally coming to an end. He doesn't allow himself to linger on the details, not when something much more fascinating is captivating his attention.

He doesn't recognize the song she's playing but her humming is enough for him to want to listen to it forever. The light vibrations against his fingertips send jolts of electricity up his arm.

One song fades into another and he finds himself lost with her. A slow dance that feels simultaneously too short and infinite. Her eyes sparkle with an unbridled joy that he found himself missing. Its the image that he clings to during such rough cases.

He spins her and when she returns their chests are touching. Her head settles onto his shoulder overwhelming his senses with the smell of honey and cardamom. In this position he can feel the sound through his entire chest. A warmth surrounds them wrapping this moment in a tight blanket.

Just the two of them.


	21. XXI

**If there was a drinking game for every classic trope that I've written so far for this thing I'd be dead by now. We're nearing the end y'all can you believe?**

**Day 21 - Treasure**

She should really learn never to call Sherlock on a bluff. Honestly, in the experience of the past 24 hours she has learned that he will go to extensive lengths in order to prove a point.

It was such an instance that lead them to the woods late at night with Sherlock's claim that he had been the one to have found the Hartford Treasure sixteen years ago. Her doubt lead him to concoct what she can only describe as a recreation of his experience. He'd gathered all of the clues he'd accumulated in his search and spread them throughout the Brownstone for her to find. Her prize, her favorite cardigan that he'd somehow stolen and hid where he had found the chest. With no technology allowed she was left for hours to scour all the books he'd collected over the years for hints to where her treasured item is.

The search was easier than anticipated at first. A coordinate marked on a map with a red push pin instead of a blue one, a highlighted excerpt on Einstein's theory, and even a clue beneath Angus. However as the hours passed she was clued into just how extensive the search would become. The further she went the more obscure her hints had become. A leaf in Clyde's terrarium that was just off green, thirty or so books on the geography of New York with a spelling error in the midst being her only clue, and her absolute least favorite: a failed playwright's horrid script describing the pains of being a man in America.

Three hours of arguing, food breaks, and a nap aside it takes her 18 hours to track the woods that he'd found the treasure in. All the while with Sherlock trailing behind like the most annoying pet in history. Her feet ache from marching through brush in less than optimal shoes for the occasion. Her back aches after another 20 minutes of digging but once she hits solid wood she can feel the relief in every fiber of her being. With the help of Sherlock she pulls the trunk out of the dirt. Sure enough tucked safely inside is her cardigan wrapped carefully in paper so it couldn't be dirtied by the elements.

"Congratulations Watson." Sherlock beams proudly at her. She offers him a tired smile back holding it close to her chest. She sits at the edge of the hole she'd dug wanting nothing more in that moment than her bed. The exhaustion of the day settles over her like the tide on a shore. It pulls her deeper until she feels the cusp of sleep drawing her deeper. She snaps awake when she feels herself being lifted from the dirt. Sherlock pulls her up in a bridal style carry. She flinches at first but finds that she's much too tired to argue any more. She'll give him a piece of her mind another day.

The rhythm of his steps back to the car lull her into a peaceful sleep.


	22. XXII

**YO READ THIS BECAUSE THIS IS YOUR OFFICIAL HEAVY SPOILER WARNING. THIS CHAPTER DICUSSES DEATHS THAT OCCUR ON THE SHOW. I DIDN'T HOLD BACK ON THIS ONE SO IF YOU'RE NOT CAUGHT UP OR EVEN JUST STARTING THE SHOW MAYBE GIVE THIS CHAPTER A SKIP BECAUSE THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING YOUR GETTING DON'T BE MAD THE PROMPT IS LITERALLY GHOST IT WAS THIS OR SOMETHING EVEN SADDER**

**Disclaimer aside. I just got back from a concert and I'm fucking exhausted. My ears have been ringing ever since we stepped out of the arena but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. I'm headed back to school again tomorrow though so we will be back on a steady schedule once again at least.**

_**Day 22 - Ghost**_

It's the ghosts that haunt him.

Not literally, mind, paranormal studies are ludicrously fake. Any 'paranormal investigator' is simply an actor with a pension for things outside the ordinary. He could list off a hundred different reasons why methods they use are tailored to behave the way they do.

No, he means those that are lost but the feeling of them always seems to linger. It began with his mother, died when he was young but her presence filled him with a bitterness for life and his father. It's a sin he could never quite forgive. Then Mycroft, his actual death left an unexpected hole. One not quite able to be filled and left with the painful ifs that Watson often pulls him from when his mind becomes too loud. Finally it was his father, this one held a sombering reality. All his biological family is gone. He wishes for no children. This will be the end of the Holmes bloodline. He is the final Holmes. The thought sends a shudder through him, a legacy much too heavy to carry alone.

Then came along a boy with a bright smile, Arthur Holmes Watson. No longer a burden of a last name but one tucked safely away. He hadn't known of his name Arthur bounded up to him with a permission slip for some field trip. Upon careful read the name struck a cord. He'd long pestered Watson about writing the book but this dedication to him, it was theirs and theirs own.

Truth be told, he sees the ghosts around her too. They haunt her just as they do he and yet she stands firm. She's wavered, of course. She's fallen before, deep into a rabbit hole after losing so many people. He was afraid that he'd watch her drown.

So they harbor their ghosts together. A list of names hanging over their heads, a guillotine swaying precariously. Should they fall, they'll deal with the repercussions. Together they will put their broken pieces back together focusing on those still solid and in front of them. They hold on tightly all too familiar with the unpredictability of life. Most of all they cling to each other as the world thunders around them aching to break them apart and destroy.

And still they hold on.


	23. XXIII

**Here we are once again with me at a complete loss for what to do for a prompt. I scrounged the inktober tag for a little bit but all the artists ideas were reminiscent of otherworldly figures. However, I have always loved a good heist and the trailer for a heist with markiplier came out today. So I rolled with my heist idea and stepped it up a notch cause I remembered my family and I went to a museum once (not in Chicago like the story states) where there was a replica of the Terracotta Army. That combined with the scene from 6x17 and I finally had an idea. Not too shippy but I like it.**

_**Day 23 - Ancient**_

Watson comes to an abrupt halt in the almost as soon as she steps into the Brownstone. Almost completely taking up the entrance and adjacent rooms are what she can without a doubt identify as a mere sample of the Terracotta Army. She lets out a sigh knowing that this is yet another antic Sherlock is up to. With barely enough room to walk between the statues she maneuvers her way through their home to at least get to the kitchen.

Something catches her eye as she makes her way, though. Her gaze settles on one of the figures and something just feels off.

Just as she's reaching out a booming voice echos from behind her, "Well done Watson." She jumps at the unannounced presence of her partner standing a couple feet from her. She quietly notes to herself to order him a bell to put around his neck. "You've found the polar bear in a snowstorm."

"Should I even ask why anymore?" Her deadpan is enough for him to explain, thankfully without any more theatrics.

"In Chicago there is a replica of The Terracotta Army," He rounds the soldier to come to stand next to her bouncing on his toes as he explains. "A man who's name is unknown was able to escape with a few artifacts by disguising himself as a soldier and sneaking in and out of the exhibit. Two security guards were on duty and one of them is dead. My proposal is that the remaining guard was in on the conspiracy."

"And the polar bear in the snowstorm?" She asks gesturing to the statue that caught her eye.

"Of course," He nods toward it, "This is Ryan Tetre, a world renowned escape artist. Never been caught in an escape and it appears that you were the first as you spotted him within seconds of entering. Extraordinary work."

Her face flushes at the praise offering him a shy smile in response. It's after the effects of it fades that she registers the rest of what he said. She gapes at the statue until he opens his eyes confirming that he is, in fact a living person. "You were using him to see if he could escape unnoticed by you."

"First unnoticed and if he were to succeed, unnoticed with Angus." He then turns to her excitement buzzing in his gaze. "Would you like to be our dead security guard?"

"As much as I'd love to play dead while you play your weird game of cat and mouse I think I'll pass."

He shrugs, the boyish grin and almost devious look still reflecting in his eyes. "Your loss."


	24. XXIV

**Time for me to be an utter sap. The amount of praise these ficlets have gotten has been an absolute treasure to me. To see y'all enjoying them so much honestly means the world. I love these characters so much and it's a pleasure to be able to share my ramblings with the world. This got so much more attention than I could have ever imagined and it absolutely blows my fucking mind. I've got people who've read my other fics coming into this one, new fans who've just started the show, and even some of my favorite writers from the fandom leaving the sweetest comments. Without y'all I wouldn't be able to push myself so hard to get these daily prompts out. Thank you all so much for sticking through this with me and being patient even with late publishes and triple uploads.**

_**Day 24 - Dizzy**_

He sucks in air as he comes to almost immediately overwhelmed by the need to cough. He hacks, his entire body shaking with the effort of expelling smoke and ash from his lungs.

Sherlock runs the events back through his mind. They'd been investigating a lead onto a retired military lieutenant, come with little to nothing after a nearly two hour search. Francis Ellison being away on a 'business retreat' lended them full range of the estate once they were able to bypass the security system which was dreadfully inadequate for someone of such high training. They made their way out to the car they'd parked safely two streets down. He'd turned to offer comfort, it was her lead after all. It wasn't her fault that they'd come out with nothing. He'd seen Watson's face right before the flash.

Watson.

He forces his eyes open despite the world tipping and turning all about him. Past the ringing in his ears he can distantly hear car alarms going off and sirens rushing to the source. Flames lick the inky black sky from the mangled pieces of the surveillance car Marcus had loaned them for the night. A black figure moves against the light then above him. He tries to find energy to fight against it, to fight back.

"Sherlock," His name, not in a hatred laced voice. No, one filled with fear. "Sherlock stop! Don't move!" Watson's face glows red and yellows dancing off her features. He doesn't recall the last time he's heard her so scared, for him nonetheless. "Don't. Please."

"Are you-" He coughs again his throat aching.

"You blocked me. I'm okay." He tries to sit up only to be held down by her hand. "What..."

"A car bomb. Whoever set it off did when you turned around." She moves, pushing the shards of glass away to sit by his side as he lays prone on the road. There's blood on her hands, he's not entirely sure which of them it belongs to but he's also pretty sure it doesn't quite matter at the moment either. Scratchings trace up the left side of her face and her clothes are torn. He knows why she wants him to remain still, it's for fear of another concussion. The last rendered him completely useless for months because he pushed himself too hard. She'd be damned if she let that happen again.

"Watson?" Her hand comes to grip his pulling it to her chest. The feeling of her heart racing settles his, her pulse thundering against his fingertips. She's okay. It becomes a mantra in his head as they wait, the cacophony of noise swelling around them.

"You'll be okay." You have to be. The unfinished statement echoes through the streets as the sirens grow closer still.


	25. XXV

**Honestly, I don't know what this is. I'm just getting something out there to avoid a triple publish tonight I'm not gonna be able to write at work today cause I'm leaving my laptop at home BECAUSE I'm going to a thriller festival as soon as I get off. So y'all get to deal with my 6 AM brain and this weird lil chapter.**

_**Day 25 - Tasty**_

Watson finds Sherlock in the kitchen eating what appears to be some kind of whipped cream concoction out of a pot using a wooden spoon. She doesn't say a word, simply raises her eyebrow at him gesturing with subtle movements. It's more than enough for him to get her point.

"No clean bowls."

"Or spoons?" He shrugs, she can tell something else is on his mind. He's far away from their menial conversation. His eyes look at her but they don't see much.

The case is one that baffles the both of them. Three women go missing on the subway with plenty of security cameras catching their movement. Each camera matches so none were looped, all have the girls going into the subway but none of the stops show them coming out again. They've checked every colleague, lover, boyfriend, family member that they can think of and Sherlock has come to a point where he suspects the choosing occurred because of events on the subway. With security cameras conveniently being destroyed, there's not much more they can do than surmise.

Then of course, there's Morland's looming presence. All together threatening and putting Sherlock in a sour mood most days. Between the two, she's honestly shocked he's not stress baking Yorkshire Puddings right now. She moves to him carefully but his gaze doesn't follow her, it remains in the spot where she used to be. She can't help but want to snap him out of it.

She takes the seat just across from him, the sweet smell of ice cream and cherries filling her senses. She reaches out swiping a bit of whipped cream that had been on his face before licking her thumb. Her touch alone seems to have caught his attention as he flinches, eyes back on her once again. His full attention is on her now staring at her in confusion and shock at her actions.

"You taste good."

His jaw drops as she stands once again moving to make coffee. He follows her, the same dumbfounded look on his face the entire time forcing her to contain the laughter bubbling in her chest.

At least it got his mind off the case.


	26. XXVI

**Anyone else seen Scorpion? The beginnings of this chapter were heavily inspired by the image of Toby carrying Happy on his back after she twists her ankle in the woods and the team just pulls up on him carrying her around.**

_**Day 26 - Dark**_

Three miles is absolutely nothing for Sherlock. He's ran marathons before and even during his stint with drugs he was a very active person. However, he's not sure anyone could be prepared for hiking through the woods at night with Watson on their back.

They'd gone to the McAllister cabin to look into the family. Suspicious behavior would be putting their actions way too lightly. None of the stories matched up, everyone was each other's alibi, and details were ever constantly changing. With a warrant he and Watson set out to scope out the cabin before Bell. Should they find anything they were meant to call him. Or, that's what was meant to happen.

What happened instead was a flat tire about five miles from the cabin on an abandoned road and no cell service. Upon walking their luck increased ever so when he heard his partner collapse behind him. A rock on the road was enough for her to step on it, eyes forwards not looking where her feet were, and break the heel of her shoes twisting her ankle in the process. Upon removing the item it was clear that her ankle was already swelling. Ignoring her professional opinion that she wasn't hurt and was okay to walk he had her jump on top of his back and he'd carry her the remaining three miles to the cabin where they could call Marcus.

They were a mere half mile away when lights shone from behind them casting the street in an eery glow. Anxiety grips his chest despite knowing that none of the McAllisters could be coming this way. They were in holding at least for the next two hours. Without evidence they would have to release them but it hasn't gone quite that late yet. His heart rate increases as the car slows, likely noticing the two of them walking along. He does the calculations in his mind: it could be a concerned citizen but it's awfully late to be driving down a road that leads only further into nowhere. He turns nonetheless, keeping himself between Watson and the approaching vehicle.

The headlights blind the car to the both of them until it comes to a full stop. The window rolls down revealing a stressed out but relieved Marcus sitting in the driver's seat. "Do you two know how late it is?" He jokes but he can still hear the worry in the detective's voice.

"We got a flat tire. No reception or we would have called." Watson remarks as he gently places her into the passenger's seat.

"I saw the car as I came in. You two okay?"

"A little banged up but fine." He nods along in agreement allowing his body to settle. The two in the front fall into easy conversation as he allows himself to drift in the back.


	27. XXVII

**Had tons of fun at the festival today but I spent so much money this weekend y'all. I looked bomb asf tho. Subtle costumes come in for the win cause I dressed as Kim Possible and was super comfortable all day while my friends complained about being hot in the sun so what's good. Anyways, enjoy this little short bit because I have to get to bed like pronto. Went kinda loose with the prompt today cause I've written a lot about the cold so that'd be a cheap way out so have Watson taking down a baddie that's wearing a fur coat.**

_**Day 27 - Coat**_

The first time he saw Watson's power in person perhaps was the moment that changed him for a lifetime.

The other woman they were up against was seemingly harmless other than a haughty attitude but secrets lie beneath the surface of appearance. Hers being an underground drug ring with a missing 4 year old boy as their star witness. He could tell that her patience with 'Miss Debby' was growing ever increasingly thin with each interaction. When she complained of headaches later in the night he held back him comments about not clenching her jaw so tight during questionings.

Yet it was a chase that caused the moment to unravel perfectly before his eyes. The unseeming woman struck him and Marcus both completely unaware as they were trailing her back to what they think her location would be. It became apparent that she knew she was being followed when she walked without hesitation across the busy streets of traffic. She made it across unharmed but Marcus held a hand to his chest. As soon as she was across she took off in a quick run away from the two of them. They'd already lost a lot of ground on her and were massively playing catch up when he sees the bundle of fur coat and dress roll across the pavement.

Watson stood over the woman her singlestick clutched in one hand, her eyes boring into the skull of the woman. She presses one heel against the back of her coat keeping the woman on the ground tossing a look back at them that stopped him in his tracks.

His breath catches in his chest when her eyes met his. The raw intensity of her look burns into his mind remaining there for long after they clear the scene. His chest feels tight as her lips stretch into a triumphant smile. He'd taught her just that and she was able to execute and take down the criminal flawlessly. He can't help the swell of pride that builds in his chest at the sight.

It's not until she looks away that he's able to move once again.


	28. XXVIII

**Look. I have no excuse this time other than time simply getting away from me. That's all I got. I'll post the second after I get out of class and then today's will come later tonight to space out uploads a little better.**

_**Day 28 - Ride**_

Truthfully the aftermath of the car chase was a lot more overwhelming than the fact that he was stuck in the trunk of the car being pursued for the past 5 hours. It's like being in his sensory deprivation tank if Watson were to push said tank down a steep hill.

Once Sherlock is freed, however, the onslaught of activity hits him full force. Police and emergency vehicles alike flash across his pupils making him turn his head from the lights. The sirens were turned off as soon as the cars came to a stop but with the activity of 6 police cars not to mention paramedics circling around him asking too many questions it grates at his nerves.

One more car screeches to a halt, only one figure stepping from this one before it sped off again. Watson's eyes comb over the scene until they land on him, relief flooding her features. She looks utterly exhausted, hair thrown up into a messy pony tail and her tie hanging loosely from her neck. She waves off the paramedics with ease, likely former colleagues, taking their place in front of him. Her actions aren't quick or prodding, rather calming and some movements, while unnecessary, bring comfort with her touch.

"No more getting kidnapped." He thinks he hears her mutter amongst all the bustling activity. He can see the signs of her concern, a cracked sense of control that normally held her together so perfectly. All of this for him.

Her next move is far from procedure. Her head drops, forehead resting against his as she allows all the tension to seep from her body. For a second he believes there are tears building in her eyes. His fingers find hers leading them to his pulse steadily beating inside his wrist. It's an action he's done with her before shortly after Le Milieu. Gratitude shines from her features and they remain like that for a good while.

"No more getting kidnapped." He eventually agrees. How could he not?


	29. XXIX

**Another extension of a scene that we were robbed of. We deserved to see Sherlock finding Watson on the ground after Michael retreated. We were robbed and it's one of very few things I'm bitter about from the series.**

_**Day 29 - Injured**_

Watson wakes to pain radiating across the side of her face. Panic grips her once again as she realizes two things: one she had passed out next to the door still clutching the helicopter shrapnel, two there's almost definitely a person right in front of her. She stays as still as she can muster counting the movements until she can visualize an opportunity to strike without alerting her attacker.

She's disarmed as soon as she moves, the piece of metal clattering noisily across the floor. Visuals of the rope Michael Rowan had used to strangle the other girls flash across her mind. She uses the last of her fight to push and kick wildly at the body.

Two hands grip her wrists but they don't push back, they let her keep hitting the rough chest, supporting her. Her eyes snap open finding Sherlock's face in front of hers. "Joan," Her name is soft and unfamiliar in his throat. All the calm that she forced herself to keep so that she could think rationally shatters in that moment. Her ribs ache from her frantic movements throbbing across her torso making it hard to catch her breath.

Sherlock lets go of her wrists slowly continuing his analysis of her injuries, jaw set in defiance. Still with him this close she can see the tracks from his tears shed before she woke, she can see the energy and anger pulsing beneath the surface. She catches his hand as it hovers over the already forming bruise around her eye. "I'm okay." She whispers. More so than the girls before. "Not mine." He recognizes that she means the blood trailing across the Brownstone. Pride and relief flashes across his gaze momentarily but it's snuffed by worry once again. He teeters for a moment, indecisive of his next move. His body rocks back and forth as if only stopped by a thin thread holding him backwards. "Please." She needs whatever comfort he can provide right now.

His head dips, lips pressed to her hairline. Sobs wrack her body full of pain and tethered fear. She holds him close, fingers digging into his coat as the sirens approach.


	30. XXX

**Only one more to go. This one kinda sucks cause I have a physics exam in the morning so I wrote this on like 20% energy.**

_**Day 30 - Catch**_

Sherlock sees the flash in an upper scale window before Watson does. "Down!" He shouts the warning to the surrounding officers pushing Watson to the ground.

His body covers hers as glass reigns down like hell around them. He holds her close so much she can feel her breath on his neck. The air fans across his skin sending goosebumps trailing down his arms. He waits until the bullets stop before he raises off of her. His eyes trail across her assessing for injury. She seems alright other than minor scrapes from hitting the ground unexpectedly.

"Are you okay?" He pulls her to her feet once the coast in clear.

"More warning would have been nice." The sarcasm in her voice brings a smile to his face. At least he knows that she's okay.

Her hand doesn't leave his though. It's a small action, practically invisible to anyone else but it sends sparks up his arm. She holds onto him as they evacuate the scene in the back of a cop car. It's not until they're back in the precinct that she seems to notice her hand still in his. She pulls away crimson flooding to her cheeks and a mumbled apology on her lips. He laments the loss but he doesn't say anything for fear of stepping over the carefully drawn line they'd made long ago.

His head feels oddly empty without hers.


	31. XXXI

**Holy cow I did it. This is a moment of super pride because there was absolutely zero preparation that went into this enormous project. I decided to commit to this project on day 2 of the inktober prompt fest and you guys were so receptive that I had no excuse but to continue. A huge shoutout to the GC legalwattenpotlnpott for putting up with me asking for what the fuck I was supposed to do on super vague days. A super special shoutout to Em who provided endless ideas for when I was absolutely blank.**

**And plans for the future: the past two weeks have been super challenging IRL so I'm definitely taking like a week long break before I do ANY more writing. But when I come back I will absolutely be continuing the fake engagement AU as that has been a popular ask in the past month that I've been doing this project.**

**Thank you all for putting up with me absolutely spamming the tag and taking over the ship tags for the past month and I am so sorry.**

**_Day 31 - Ripe_**

_The moment seems to play out in slow motion._

_Shots firing echo through the streets. He knocks Watson to the ground while the other officers scatter for cover. Warm liquid seeps through the front of his shirt staining the white. "Sherlock." His name comes out in but a whisper. He forces himself to look down at the crimson bleeding through the front of her fills him as each of her breaths come through in a struggled pant. He hears the shouting of other officers but he can't move. He presses his jacket to the wound but it's already too much. Her energy is fading too quickly._

_She goes limp beneath his fingers, her last breath leaving in a final exhale._

He wakes on the couch drenched in sweat. His heart is in his throat as he flings himself upwards. He goes up the steps two at a time desperate to know the truth.

He flings open her bedroom door finding her reading a book, glasses perched on the edge of his nose. She looks up at him as he lingers in the doorway. "Did Marcus call?" Memories flood back to him. There had been a shooting but they both made it out unharmed. Her hand lingered in his. "Sherlock?"

_"Sherlock?"_

His name spurs his movement. He gives her a look, asking for silent permission. She's confused but grants it anyways, she trusts him afterall. He settles into bed with her, each action slow as if waiting to be pushed away. He wraps his arms around her clinging to the knowledge that it was but a dream. His head settles on the spot just beneath her ribs, enough room for her to keep her focus on her book. She accepts the reality now, one hand combing gently through his hair while the other holds her book in place.

He falls asleep with the memory of the dream still fresh on his mind.


End file.
